Follow My Lead
by FineSummerDay
Summary: "The feeling of a question hung in the air as the stage band loudly droned on, and Camille leaned across the table, 'What was that, sir'" Fluffy two-shot. PooleCamille.
1. Chapter 1

"Camille, would you like to dance?"

The feeling of a question hung in the air as the stage band loudly droned on, and Camille leaned across the table, "What was that, sir?"

Poole glanced at her briefly, and then stoically fixed his gaze on the cup of tea he held firmly in both hands. This time he nearly yelled: "Dance. Would you like to dance?"

A smile lit across her face, "Why, Richard, what's this about?" her voice teasing, "You want to dance with an island girl? Experience a little of the island's passion?" She laced her hands together and propped her laughing face onto them.

He looked up from his teacup to glower, and tested his words slowly, "Yes. That's it. Precisely."

Camille's laughing eyes dropped into a steady gaze as she said, "Alright then." And, rising to her feet, "Let's go dance."

She led the way, not checking to see if he was coming.

"I've never been good at dancing," he said, tripping over his feet as he struggled to follow her through the weaving couples, and running into her as she stopped suddenly near the middle of the floor, under the low-burning lights.

Camille turned and buried her face against his chest and laughed, her shoulders shaking, and his hands instinctively wrapped against the small of her back, holding her close. Gingerly, he pressed his face in her hair and she twined her fingers in his. Then she began to sway her hips, pulling him with her.

They just approached something which almost resembled being in time when a distant spoken word froze them in place.

"Detective!"

Poole jerked towards Fidel's voice and Camille's lifted her head abruptly.

Fidel stood rigid, his eyes on the far wall, and his voice blank, "There's been a situation that requires—"

He was cut off by Dwayne's loud insistence, "Hey. Lovebirds. We got a new case."

Poole dropped his arms from Camille, and she stepped back, lightly grasping his hand. "C'mon, let's go," she said, rolling her eyes at Dwayne.


	2. Chapter 2

"Would you, ah, like to come in?" Poole stuttered as he asked, the dark night obscuring Camille's face. She had just set the parking brake on the beat-up jeep as they arrived at his bungalow.

He heard her turn towards him, and her tired voice, "Richard, we just spent 10 hours together sorting through the Commander's cold cases. I really don't want to keep working on the files I saw you put in your briefcase. I just want to go home, open a bottle—"

He cut her off, "Ah, no, not for more work. I, um, have something I'd like you to see. Or, hear, rather. If you wanted to. Not as a request of your senior officer."

She leaned forward in her seat, her face suddenly illumined in the moonlight and curious, "Okay. I will come in for this. Not for work."

"Ah, great. Wonderful. Right this way then." Poole stuttered out.

She laughed, "I have not forgotten the way to your house since this morning when I came to pick you up," she said as they stepped across the sand, "I think you can give me credit enough for remembering that."

He reached the door ahead of her and held it open as she passed through, "Of course, I just, Camille, I just never know what to say around you." He stiffened as he said it, and she turned back, a question on her lips as he continued, coming in behind her.

"I mean, I'm rubbish at all of that stuff. Saying what you feel. Englishman just don't do that. But, I…" he seemed to run out of words and began shuffling papers about, looking for something and muttering, "So, I got this, because I knew you liked it, and, well, that's enough reason, isn't it? Ah, here."

And he uncovered a mid-90s, silver-chromed boom box, all the while muttering, "Not very romantic according to the books. Not like a turntable would be. But it makes no sense to keep a turntable in here, with all the sand constantly blowing. And you're always stopping to look at the cds, so I thought you must like them-"

She brushed her hand against his arm, and he froze as she said, "Richard, what are you talking about?" trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

He squinted his eyes shut, "Right. Um. I've bought a boom box and a range of cds including reggae, for you, and some lovely Strauss waltzes, for, erm, me. And I thought, since we weren't able to finish our dance the other evening, we could do so. Here. Now."

He glanced up timidly to gauge her reaction, and was surprised to be met with a calculating look. Camille took a step closer, and another, till she was inches from his face. "I think," she said slowly, "That's okay with me."

He breathed a ragged sigh and turned from her to hit play. When he turned back, hands safely placed in his pockets, she was gazing up at him with a playful smile. As the music began to tumble around them, she lifted her arms to loop her hands behind his neck.

"Camille, what do I do with my hands?" He asked plaintively.

"Be creative," she said, eyes still locked with his.

Grimacing ever so slightly, he placed one hand in the middle of her back, maintaining a rigid arm and the six inches between them.

"You don't have to look so serious, " she added, "It's supposed to be pleasant."

Gazing down at her smiling eyes, filled with sudden confidence, he placed his other hand against the small of her back and drew her close, swaying in time to the gentle music. He felt her smile against his chest and barely heard her murmur, "Much better."

And for the first time since he'd arrived, Detective Richard Poole was not thinking at all about England.


End file.
